


Make Believe

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: In which, in order to form an alliance, Keith and Shiro need to fake a relationship and endure a series of related trials.This was a terrible idea. An excruciating, tantalizing car crash of an idea. Keith should never have agreed to this. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He was never going to be able to come back from this.Careful metal fingertips traced his jaw, tipping his face up to meet gentle, storm grey eyes. He was close, so close. “Everything okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.“Of course,” Keith said. "Everything is fine.”It was a bald-faced lie; everything was not fine. It was wonderful and devastating and nowhere in between.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love this trope. Maybe it's been done before, but I'm not hearing any complaints. :)

This was a terrible idea. An excruciating, tantalizing car crash of an idea. Keith should never have agreed to this. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He was never going to be able to come back from this.

Careful metal fingertips traced his jaw, tipping his face up to meet gentle, storm grey eyes. He was close, so close. Keith could count each long, dark eyelash if he weren’t so distracted by the way his lungs had stopped working and his heart was trying to escape his ribcage.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.

“Of course,” Keith lied.

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

“It is. You know it is,” Keith said. “But it doesn’t matter. Everything is fine.”

Shiro pulled him in closer, his hand resting at the small of Keith’s back. His steady puffs of breath were warm against his neck. “If you’re sure,” Shiro murmured.

“I’m sure,” Keith said.

It was a bald-faced lie; everything was not fine. It was wonderful and devastating and nowhere in between.

…

_Earlier._

“I volunteer Shiro and Keith.”

Keith balked, glaring at Lance with eyes too wide.

“Come on. You guys are practically married, anyway.”

“W-we are not!” Keith spluttered.

Lance raised his hands in surrender. “Calm down, man. I was just joking. …Kind of. But for real, you guys could legitimately fake a relationship _and_ look the closest to the Graxari, and we need every advantage we can take.”

“Lance is correct,” Allura said. “Don’t forget, Graxarion is the only remaining supplier of rezanite we know of.”

“And we need it to maintain the pods. I know, I know. But you can shapeshift,” Keith said, looking at Allura. “Wouldn’t that be better?”

The Graxari weren’t a particularly open-minded race when it came to off-worlders—xenophobic, even. They only trusted those who looked and acted similarly to them. Appearance-wise, while Shiro and Keith didn’t have their starry blue sclera or the same chalky complexion, their dark eyes and pale skin weren't too far off. But acting…?

“I do not know Shiro the way you do,” Allura said. “Remember, according to our intel, the Graxari value long-standing intimate relationships above all else. Part of the trial involves an interrogation and careful observation to verify the relationship is real. It is supposedly quite rigorous; others have attempted to falsify a relationship in the past. I cannot be confident that Shiro and I have known one another long enough to pass such a test.”

“Allura’s right,” Shiro said. He met Keith’s eyes, his gaze soft and pleading. “It’d only be for a spicolian movement. Would it really be so bad?”

A spicolian movement, and then it would be over, and the gaping hole in Keith’s chest would be torn open even further. It would be the best, worst week of Keith’s life.

“As long as you play the part, it’ll practically be a vacation,” Coran said. “And ancients know you could both use a break.” He shot Keith a subtle glance: _Shiro_ _could use a break._

And there it was. Even if were able to resist the temptation, he couldn’t refuse now. Shiro was always so stressed, so on edge. He needed this.

Keith could do this for Shiro.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” Allura said, grinning a bit too enthusiastically. “I will send a message to the Graxari right away.”

“You guys are gonna make the cutest couple!” Hunk said, clasping his hands together. His eyes sparkled. “You guys should hold hands. Like, right now.”

“We’re not on Graxarion yet,” Keith said, folding his arms against his chest and glaring at Hunk. He didn’t dare take Shiro’s hand now. He couldn’t be sure heat wouldn’t rise to his cheeks, and he’d be damned if he let the others see him blush.

“In due time,” Shiro said. His eyes flicked back to Keith. “C’mon. This could be fun. I know you used to play pretend all the time as a kid. It’ll be just like that.”

“That was confidential,” Keith said with a scowl, hoping it hid from his face the way the words turned his heart into the Titanic.

“My bad.” Shiro’s lips pulled up into an easy, playful smile. And just like that, Keith’s stomach filled with butterflies, flip-flopping and leaping into his throat.

Heart, lungs, stomach, lower; Keith’s body couldn’t handle a week of this. Takashi Shirogane was going to be the death of him.

…

_Strike one._

“Why do you not show proper affection?” Their Graxari chaperone, whose name Keith had forgotten, narrowed his eyes. He’d introduced himself, but his name had gone in one ear and out the other; there was only one person on Keith’s mind. “We have been in the carriage for nearly a varga, and yet you barely touch.”

It wasn’t a good sign—their chaperone was to report to the Queens on their behaviour, which would determine whether or not they got an audience. Keith felt Shiro stiffen beside him ever so slightly, before saying, “Keith’s just a little shy.”

“You do not trust us to see?” the Graxari asked. A warning.

“Of course I do,” Keith said. He leaned against Shiro, letting him take his weight. It was a safe gesture; nothing they hadn’t done before.

Too safe, apparently.

Shiro took his hand in his. They’d held hands before, a subtle squeeze for reassurance, or a desperate grasp to hold on in dire situations. But never like this, not with their fingers laced together, fitting together just right.

And then, _and then_ , Shiro leaned in closer and pressed a tender kiss to Keith’s cheek. Keith froze. His heart lurched; his lungs stuttered. Blood rushed to his face, and there was no doubt Shiro could feel the warmth of Keith’s blush under his lips.

Shiro smiled as he pulled away. “See?” he said to the Graxari, gesturing at Keith. “Shy.”

Keith’s face turned even redder, this time with embarrassment. He elbowed Shiro in the ribs, which only made Shiro’s smile broaden into something genuine.

“Hm.” The chaperone nodded, still suspicious but seemingly appeased, for now. Keith felt the tension fall away from Shiro’s shoulders.

It took a while to get from where they’d landed on Graxarion to the heart of the crowded capital city, where the palace was located. The city was so different from what they’d seen before; most of the places they visited had much smaller populations. Here, twisting, colourful skyscrapers reached higher than the eye could see. A mix of futuristic and old-fashioned, animal-drawn carriages travelled across metallic skywalks through the pink clouds.

Keith didn’t care all that much about the architecture—buildings were buildings—but he did quietly appreciate the open awe on Shiro’s face as he gazed out the window of the carriage, taking in the view. It filled Keith with warmth and nostalgia. Even after everything he’d been through, Shiro was still an explorer at heart.

After another half varga of Shiro observing their surroundings and Keith observing Shiro and their chaperone observing them both, the giraffe-deer-unicorns pulling the carriage ground to a halt.

Shiro hopped out of the carriage first and offered Keith his hand in a ridiculous gentlemanly gesture. Keith rolled his eyes, but he took it. Shiro didn’t let go, threading their hands together once more as the chaperone led them inside the massive palace and took them to their quarters.

The room was small, intimate. Notably, there was only one bed in the middle of the room, and it wasn’t particularly large. There was no couch. Keith shoved it to the back of his mind. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

“I will escort you to the welcome feast in a varga,” the chaperone said. “Until then, please make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you,” Shiro said, his voice tinged with relief. It had barely been two vargas since they’d landed. Was he that sick of pretending to be in a relationship with Keith already? Maybe… maybe he was just tired. But once the chaperone had left, he couldn’t let go of Keith’s hand fast enough.

It was a reminder that this was all just an act. Keith couldn’t let himself forget.

Keith flopped down on the mattress. Shiro sat down at the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. If he didn’t want to touch Keith any more than he had to, that was fine. Completely, one hundred percent fine.

Shiro caught his eye. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s not like you’ve never made fun of me before.”

“No, I meant for… you know.”

“It saved us,” Keith said. “It’s fine. I—I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

Shiro gave him a wry smile. “You don’t have to lie to me. You were so tense I thought you were going to snap in two. We’re alone, now. You don’t have to pretend. If—if you want us to find another way to form this alliance, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“No. I…” _I want this. More than anything._ Keith was just a slip of the tongue away from admitting it, but he couldn’t; he couldn’t mess up their friendship with his _feelings_. If Shiro ever found out, he would pull away, put distance between them, the way he had with so many others before. Shiro always made sure not to give anyone the wrong impression. 

If Shiro found out, it would change everything, and Keith couldn’t handle losing what they had. Their friendship was the only constant in Keith’s ever-changing universe; Shiro was the star that kept him from falling out of orbit. He couldn’t lose that, couldn’t lose him again in _any_ capacity. Shiro could never know.

“We can’t back out now,” Keith said. “But it’s fine. Really. There are worse things than a week of having to pretend I’m in love with my best friend.” Like years and years of having to pretend he _wasn’t_ in love with his best friend.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, I want you to let me know. You’re more important to me than this alliance.”

Keith shook his head. “More important than restoring the pods? I shouldn’t be.”

Shiro shrugged. “Should or shouldn’t, there’s nothing you could do that would change my mind.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile. Back at the Garrison, Shiro used to wear his heart on his sleeve, open and honest and unbearably genuine. That had changed, and Keith didn’t love him any less for it. But once in a while, Garrison-Shiro would resurface, and Keith could lose himself in memories of happier times.

When Shiro slipped to the bathroom, Keith pulled out his tablet to check in with the Castle. He regretted it as soon as Lance answered.

“ _Hey there, lovebird,”_ Lance greeted. He turned around, calling to the others, _“Hey guys, it’s Keith. Aw, look at that little smile. He’s got it sooo bad.”_

Keith glowered at him.

Hunk popped up beside Lance. “ _Have you guys confessed your true feelings for each other yet?”_

“What? _No!”_

“ _Told you_ ,” Pidge said, poking her head out. “ _Keith’s just gonna keep quietly pining over Shiro until it kills him_.”

“I’m not _pining_ over _anyone_ ,” Keith growled.

Lance let out an obnoxious, too-loud laugh. “ _Yeah, and Hunk doesn’t like food, and Pidge doesn’t like computers.”_

“Go away,” Keith hissed. “I don’t want to talk to you guys. Where’s Allura?”

The Princess pushed her way onto the screen. “ _Hello, Keith,”_ she said. She clasped her hands together with a wide grin. _“Have you and Shiro kissed yet?”_

Keith let out an exasperated groan, dragging a hand through his hair. “Our _mission_ is going _fine,_ thanks for asking. We made it to the palace. We have a chaperone—“

_“Oooh.”_

“Shut _up_ , Hunk. The intel checks out. We’re under observation most of the time. We’ll get to meet with the Queens at the end of the spicolian movement as long as we pass some trials and the guy watching us buys the act.”

“ _And that is going well? Your chaperone does not suspect anything so far?”_ Allura asked.

“We’ve… got it under control.”

 _“I’m sure they found a way to convince him,”_ Lance said with an exaggerated wink, to which Allura giggled.

Keith scowled. He hated all of them. “That’s it. Nothing else to report.”

_“Give Shiro a kiss for m—“_

Keith cut the line, and not a moment too soon. Barely a tick later, Shiro emerged from the bathroom.

“I heard voices. Were you talking to the Castle?”

“Uh. Yeah. Did you hear any of that?” Keith asked.

Shiro shook his head, and Keith silently sighed with relief. “Did I miss anything?”

“No. I just gave them a really quick update. Told them we made it to the palace.”

“Well, thanks for doing that.” Shiro settled back down beside Keith on the bed. “So what do you wanna do until Visran comes back?”

“Who?”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Our chaperone?”

“Right. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Anything, as long as it’s not those stupid cat videos you got from Pidge.”

Shiro grinned. “I’d forgotten about those.”

“Worst varga of my life.”

Shiro had been inordinately excited when Pidge had found them, and just like he used to make Keith watch all sorts of not-actually-funny videos he’d find when they were back at the Garrison, he’d gone straight to Keith and made him watch clip after clip of mildly amusing cat antics.

Keith knew Shiro didn’t honestly find them that entertaining; it had been an exercise in nostalgia more than anything. So he had indulged him. Outwardly, he’d been grudging about it, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Round two will be better. Promise,” Shiro said with a smile, reaching for his tablet.

“Can’t be worse,” Keith grumbled, hiding the way his own lips turned up. He scooted over until their shoulders touched.

Shiro didn’t seem to mind.

…

_Strike two._

“No.”

“We have to,” Shiro said, though he was barely holding back a grimace. “It’s—it’s just food. My hands are clean. I’ll use my left. Or right, if the metal would be less weird?”

“I don’t care which hand it is. I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“I don’t think anyone is questioning that,” Shiro said, faintly. He gestured to all the other tables around them, where every Graxari pair was feeding each other with their bare hands, fingers in each other’s mouths. Keith pulled a face. “This is about fitting in. It’ll—it’ll be fine.”

Gingerly, Keith picked up one of the items on the plate: a slimy, orange, wakame-like substance. “You first.”

“What? No, it’s your turn,” Shiro insisted.

Keith frowned. “How is it my turn?”

“You’ve already fed me. Remember?”

Of course Keith remembered. He couldn’t scrub the image from his mind, of Shiro in those first few days after finding him in that Galra fighter. He'd been laid up in bed, too weak to even lift a cup or spoon to his lips.

“I used utensils,” Keith said.

“And I appreciate that,” Shiro said. “It’s still your turn.”

“No way. You’re the leader. Lead by example. Open up,” Keith said, shoving a fist full of orange jelly strands in front of Shiro’s face.

Shiro flinched away. “No.”

“Don’t be a baby. Open wide. Here comes the airplane.”

Breath hitching, Shiro’s eyes went wide and he ducked away. It was far too strong a reaction.

“Is there a problem?” The two of them whirled around to find their chaperone at their table. “Is the food not to your liking?”

“N-no. No problem,” Shiro stammered, devoid of his usual composure. Something was wrong. 

“We were just reminiscing about the first time I fed Shiro,” Keith offered. “It was, uh, very intimate. So I was just telling him it’s his turn to feed me. Right?”

“I… Right. Yeah.”

Keith gestured with his eyes to _pick up the food_. With a trembling hand, Shiro grabbed a clump of something lumpy and purple, bringing it to Keith’s lips. Keith did his best not to wince as Shiro shoved the food inside his mouth, did his best not to notice the feeling of Shiro’s fingers as they touched his lips and tongue.

Keith chewed and swallowed. It was too sweet and had a strange aftertaste. “It’s great,” he told the chaperone, with his best attempt at a polite smile. He wished he were a better liar.

Vis-whatever stared at him with his strange, night sky eyes. They were impossible to read. “Good to hear it, Paladin,” he said. His voice betrayed no emotion, either, but it sounded like a warning. “Be sure to save room for dessert.”

“Great. Dessert. Can’t wait.”

Keith wiped the orange slime from his fingers on the napkin provided, and then placed his hand over Shiro’s. As soon as the chaperone was out of earshot, he asked in a low whisper, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine,” Shiro said, tersely.

Keith gave him a flat stare.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid. It’s—it’s just _food_.”

“It’s just food, but…?” Keith coaxed.

“But I just… I don’t like not having control over it,” Shiro whispered, not quite meeting his eyes. He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Like I said, it’s stupid.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s not.” He didn’t need to ask about the circumstances leading to his aversion. “We don’t have to do this. I’m sure nobody would be horribly offended if you just fed yourself.”

“We have to blend in. We _need_ this alliance,” Shiro insisted.

“That’s not what you said back in the room.”

“This is different.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, pointedly. “It is.”

Shiro took a metered breath. “It’s fine, Keith. I’ll be fine. Really. I—I know I can trust you.”

“Alright,” Keith conceded. “But if we have to stop, that’s fine. Let me know, okay? We’ll take it slow.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a steady exhale. “We’ll take it slow.”

…

They made it through dinner. They made it through dessert. Keith wasn’t going to make it through this dance.

Keith’s nerves were going haywire. Every muscle was tense, too tense.

“You can relax,” Shiro murmured, his head resting on Keith’s shoulder. As if he could when their bodies were pressed so tightly together. “We’re blending in just fine.”

“Feels like an elementary school dance,” Keith muttered. Like all the other couples around them, they barely moved, just slowly swaying back and forth. They were synchronized with each other but completely off rhythm; neither was paying attention to the beat of the strange music over the speakers.

A soft laugh escaped Shiro. “You actually went to those?”

“Once. Foster parents forced me to go. Didn't want to pay for a sitter.”

“I bet you had fun.” Keith couldn’t see Shiro’s face, but he knew which smile he was wearing—the playful, teasing one Keith adored but pretended to hate.

“Worst two hours of my life.”

“I thought the cat videos had that honour,” Shiro said.

“The cat videos win for vargas. I wasn’t measuring in vargas back then.”

Shiro huffed out a laugh. “If you’re really having that bad a time, we can tell the Graxari we want to retire early.”

“No,” Keith said, a little too quickly. “I’m—I’m not having a bad time.”

He regretted his tone as soon as the words slipped out. It was too genuine. He had to be more careful. It was only a matter of time before he slipped, just a matter of time before he gave himself away.

Shiro nuzzled closer. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“…Yeah.”

This could only end badly. It was going to leave Keith in pieces. This was a terrible, terrible idea.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re not taking the floor.”

“We are _not_ sharing the bed, Keith,” Shiro said, his voice firm.

“Look,” Keith said. “I don’t like it any more than you do—“ a lie, a complete and utter lie, “—but we agreed to see this through, and unless you want to wreck our chances at an alliance, we don’t have a choice. Vas-whatever—”

“Visran.”

“—Yeah, him. Earlier, he didn’t wait to come into the room after knocking. If he comes in and sees you’d rather sleep on the floor than with me, it’s over.”

Shiro pursed his lips, knowing Keith was right. He still didn’t look happy about it.

“It’s not like we’ve never done this before,” Keith said. After finding Shiro in the Galra fighter, amidst a slew of nightmares and after a week of isolation, Shiro hadn’t wanted to be left alone. “You were the one who asked me to stay before.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t thinking clearly back then. I could _hurt_ you, Keith.”

“You didn’t hurt me back then.”

Shiro scoffed. “Because I could barely _move_.”

Keith shook his head. “I’ve faced things a lot more dangerous than my best friend sleeping beside me.” Physically, anyway. “I’m not afraid.”

“Well I _am_!” Shiro snapped. “I’m fucking _terrified_ at night. I wake up, and I don’t know where I am. I lash out. I burn holes in bed sheets. I _break_ things.” He looked away, shoulders hunching. “Keith, I could never live with myself if I—if I…”

“Shiro,” Keith interrupted, gently. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around Shiro, holding him close.

“We put our lives on the line every day,” Keith said, keeping his voice low. “Taking risks is part of what we do. I’ve done way more dangerous things for the Coalition; this is nothing. And even if it were, you know how much we rely on the pods. I’d be in a lot more danger if we didn’t have those, don’t you think?”

Reluctantly, Shiro nodded against his shoulder.

“I’ll be careful, okay?” Keith said. “If you’re having a nightmare, I’ll get out of the way. I won’t try to wake you up. …You trust me, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then believe me when I say it’s going to be fine.”

With a slow exhale, Shiro slumped against him. Keith tugged him down to lie on the mattress, arms still around him. It was far too intimate; Keith didn’t give a damn. He let the steady rise and fall of Shiro’s chest lull him to sleep.

…

True to his word, when Keith woke in the middle of the night to erratic gasps and thrashing beside him, he rolled out of bed and stood far away, back pressed against the wall. His fingers twitched. He wanted to wake him, make it stop, but that was a bad idea.

Patience yielded focus, but this was the last thing Keith wanted to focus on. Still, he waited, watching him under the stark moonlight, listening in the dead quiet of night.

Eventually, Shiro bolted upright with a sharp inhale, eyes flying open, Galra arm lit and at the ready. It wasn’t hard to see why Shiro was so afraid of hurting him. Shiro heaved for breath, shaking like a leaf.

“Shiro?” Keith said, cautiously stepping forward after a moment. “You with me?”

“K-Keith,” he gasped. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—“

“Stop that,” Keith said. Carefully, he approached the bed. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I—I told you—“

“Shut up, okay? I’m fine. Everything’s alright.”

Slowly, making sure Shiro saw it coming, he pulled him into a hug of sorts. He brought Shiro in close against his chest, one hand threading through his short hair, the other resting on his flesh arm. He tucked Shiro’s head under his chin. Shiro was drenched in cold sweat; Keith couldn’t care less.

They stayed like that until Shiro calmed down. After Shiro had gone still, in a gesture Keith should have repressed, he pressed his lips to the top of Shiro’s head. “Let’s go back to sleep, alright?”

Shiro nodded once. “Thank you, Keith,” he whispered.

Lying back down, Keith nestled against him. Eventually, Shiro found sleep again. Keith, not so much. Shiro was a restless sleeper, and occasionally, his metal arm would hit Keith—not with too much force, thankfully, but it didn’t take much to wake him.

Even though Keith barely slept at all that night, it was worth it.

…

It was a good thing they hadn’t slept apart. Visran knocked at the door and entered before they could disentangle themselves.

“I trust you slept well, Paladins. Breakfast will be served in ten doboshes, after which we will depart for the first trial. Please be ready to leave.”

The door clicked shut, and they sat up, extricating themselves from one another’s limbs.

“Morning,” Keith said, voice muzzy with the dregs of almost-sleep.

Shiro eyed him, taking in his appearance. “You look tired. Sorry for waking you.”

Keith shrugged. “Nah, I got back to sleep fine,” he lied.

“…So did I,” Shiro said, a sliver of wonder in his voice. “Well, you were right.” He gestured at the door their chaperone had entered from. “Unfortunately, it looks like we’ll have to share the bed every night until this is over.”

“I don’t mind,” Keith said. His response was too quick, too eager, and he regretted it immediately. He turned away and scampered to the bathroom, hiding the traitorous blush that had spread across his cheeks. “What d’you think the first trial’s gonna be?”

“Could be that interrogation Allura mentioned,” Shiro said. “…Maybe we should’ve discussed it ahead of time.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Keith asked. They didn’t have time, anyway. By the time they finished washing up, Visran would be back. “If they ask, we can just say we’ve been dating for five years. We’ll be fine. It’ll be easy.”

…

The first trial was the interrogation. It was not easy.

They were brought to a large building with twisting turrets and tall spires that screamed intimidation. Before they were split up and led in opposite directions, Shiro squeezed Keith’s hand and pressed a kiss to his temple. “See you after,” Shiro said.

Mind blank, Keith merely nodded.

The room Keith was brought to was unnecessarily large, with sky-high ceilings and walls that echoed. It looked a bit like a church, but it was set up like a courtroom, and he was at the witness stand. The panel of Graxari watching him was unnerving. The Graxari didn’t smile, and they didn’t blink as often as they should.

Keith relaxed, though, when they started the interrogation; the questions were easy. Shiro’s full name, date of birth, home planet, occupation; background, relatives, childhood dreams. Interests, preferences; desires, fears; strengths, weaknesses. Keith knew Shiro well. These, he could answer.

But then the questions got harder. They moved into their relationship—and more than just how long they’d been together.

Who initiated the relationship? When and where was their first kiss? Where was their first date? Where was their most recent date? Who professed their love first? Who proposed, and how?

Keith was a poor liar in the first place, and his ability to make things up on the spot was absolutely abysmal.

The questions became more and more intimate, and by the end of it, Keith knew they were completely, utterly doomed.

…

Shiro laughed. It was a quiet, beautiful thing. The sound was restrained so the Graxari on the other side of the room couldn’t hear, but his eyes sparkled with unadulterated amusement. “Don’t tell me you _actually_ said my favourite position was ‘head of Voltron’.”

Keith stepped forward, a challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Shiro smiled. He pressed a kiss to the base of Keith’s neck, making his breath catch. Shiro murmured, “You’re not wrong.”

Keith flushed. “…But yeah. You were right. We probably should’ve prepared ahead of time.”

“Mhmm.”

Really, though, Keith couldn’t _actually_ have discussed his turn-ons with Shiro—broad shoulders, strong jaw, grey eyes, long eyelashes, taking command, bad sense of humour…

The even clack of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Shiro took Keith’s hand, linking their fingers together as Visran approached.

“Well, Paladins. Your performance in this trial was… subpar, to say the least,” Visran said. “However, we will not discount the remote possibility that your poor performance was influenced by the Red Paladin’s shyness and the Black Paladin’s anxiety I witnessed yesterday. I am hardly convinced of the veracity of your relationship, but you may proceed to the next trial.”

“We’re so glad you understand,” Shiro said, relief creeping into his voice around the edges. “Keith really does have a hard time opening up to strangers, and I… I do experience anxiety. Thank you for giving us another chance.”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded.

Shiro’s arm snaked around Keith’s waist. “I love Keith more than life itself. I hope you’ll be able to see that.” He managed to sound like he meant it. He was good.

“Hm,” Visran said. “For now, we will return to the palace for lunch, and then you have the rest of the afternoon off. We will take you wherever you would like to go.”

“Is there a park or something somewhere?” Keith asked. Keith preferred being outdoors whenever possible, but more importantly, so did Shiro.

“Certainly,” Visran nodded. “There is one not far from the palace grounds.”

Shiro smiled at Keith. “Sounds perfect.”

…

They found a large tree to sit under and settled down in the lush grass. Leaning against its gnarled, blue trunk, Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders. Visran was still watching them, but for the first time since the trial, their chaperone was far enough away that he couldn’t hear them.

Keith sagged against Shiro, twiddling with a long blade of tangerine grass. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” Shiro nodded. “Too close.”

Keith absently picked the blade apart. “We’re gonna have to work harder to convince him.”

Shifting, Shiro plucked the grass from between Keith’s fingertips and tossed it aside. He turned Keith’s shoulders so he was facing him. “You know ’ _we’_ means you too, right?”

“Um, yeah?”

“I’m trying, Keith. I really am. But you…” Shiro’s gaze flitted away. “I know acting isn’t exactly your forte, but please. Can you just… can you try a little harder to pretend you love me?”

His grey eyes flickered with something that looked like hurt. Maybe it was worry for the alliance, or disappointment that Keith wasn’t pulling his weight, but whatever it was, it sent a sharp pang through Keith’s chest, and he wanted it to go away.

“I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Shiro’s lips pulled up into something that didn’t meet his eyes.

Words weren’t enough. Words had never been enough, not for them. Keith moved in closer. “Is Visran watching?”

Shiro nodded.

Keith reminded himself that this was just for show, and it was what Shiro had asked him to do. For the alliance. It didn’t mean anything. Forcing himself to keep that in the back of his mind, he let himself do what he’d imagined doing a thousand times before.

Keith tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Shiro’s jawline, soft, fluttering. Shiro’s clean-shaven skin was smooth and warm, the bone beneath sharp and perfectly angled. The action brought a smile back to Shiro’s face, so Keith did it again. He moved up his jaw and planted a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s lips, feeling them turn up a fraction more.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself if he went any further, and if he did, he’d definitely give himself away. So he shifted and sank forward, resting his head against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro draped his arms over Keith’s shoulders, hands coming to rest against Keith’s pounding ribcage. “Thanks for playing along.”

“Sure,” Keith said, closing his eyes. “Anything for you.”

…

Keith drifted off in Shiro’s arms. He spent the rest of the afternoon dozing, making up for lost sleep. He felt better by the time dinner rolled around, his head and limbs less like lead, his body enveloped in the residual warmth of Shiro’s embrace.

Dinner didn’t taste particularly good, but at least they knew what to expect. Thankfully, by their fourth meal here, Shiro was a lot more comfortable with the whole feeding each other thing.

Dessert was messy—a sticky, honey-like substance that required an awful lot of sucking and licking. With Visran watching, they turned it into something of a game, each daring the other to go further. The teasing began to border flirtation, but at the same time, it stayed within the fringes of their comfort zone. It almost felt natural.

By the end of the meal, Keith was starting to think they might be able to pull this off after all.

And then Visran brought them to the public baths.

Keith blanched as he took in the soft, low lighting; the heady, floral fragrance wafting through the air; the small, intimate pools, and the people occupying them. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Shiro let out a quiet laugh. “Oh boy.”

Apparently, just as the Graxari needed their partners to feed them, the same thing applied to bathing. The couples in the bath were washing one another in a stupidly sensual manner, as closely and as slowly as possible.

“Are these people incapable of doing anything by themselves?” Keith muttered. “This isn’t very efficient.”

Shiro’s lips quirked up. “I don’t think they’re going for efficient.”

It wasn’t as if Keith and Shiro had never seen each other naked before, but this was something else entirely. This, Keith didn’t trust himself to do. But they didn’t have a choice.

There was nothing to do but bite the bullet. Keith claimed the bench by the nearest pool, and promptly stripped off his clothes. “You can go first,” he said. Not that the order mattered; he was done for either way.

Shiro shrugged. “Fine.” He took off his clothes, too. All of them. Keith turned and waded into the steaming bath, keeping his gaze focused on the water’s surface. The water was warm, bordering on hot. It was the perfect temperature. He wished it weren’t; he wished this could be a miserable experience, one he wouldn’t replay in his head over and over when all this was done.

Ripples behind him told Keith when Shiro had joined him in the bath. Even still, Keith started when Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder to hand him the bin full of soaps and shampoos Visran had supplied.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Shiro said.

Keith didn’t respond. He had seen Shiro without clothes before, but somehow, he got more beautiful every time. He was an Adonis, carved of marble; every muscle was impossibly sculpted. The scars that interrupted smooth skin were objectively ugly, but his body was perfect all the same. “I-it’s fine,” he eventually stuttered.

“This gonna be okay?” Shiro asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Keith said, weakly. “It’s just a bath.”

“Yep. Just two friends, with no clothes on, bathing one another,” Shiro said, with a light laugh. “I know it’s a little weird, but remember, it’s just me.”

Please. That was exactly what Keith was trying to forget.

Shiro sat down on the shallow ledge, crossing his legs. He tilted his head, gesturing for Keith to join him.

Keith sat behind him, carefully making sure his knees didn’t bump against Shiro’s back. He peered into the bin and frowned. None of the soaps were in bar form; there was nothing to apply the soap to Shiro’s body with. Nothing but his hands.

He pumped one of the soaps into his palm and worked it into a lather. It was oddly viscous. Curious, he brought his hands below the water’s surface. The soap stayed where it was, coating the front of his hands. He rubbed his hands together, back and forth. It required a considerable amount of rubbing until the soap dissolved into the water. ...Great.

Keith armed himself with more soap and brought his hands to Shiro’s upper back. Shiro went rigid under his touch. It wasn’t just a startle response; his powerful muscles remained taut beneath Keith’s hands. His breaths were too slow, too even.

Keith pulled away. “Shiro, you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Sorry,” Shiro said, his voice strained. He let out a metered exhale. “I’m just not used to my skin being touched. Or… maybe too used to it."

Keith bit back his indignation. He had to stay calm. “Like I said last night, we don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do,” Shiro said. “We’re out of chances.”

“Yeah, but—”

“That doesn’t matter. I want to go through with this. I… I don’t want to be afraid of being touched. I want it to feel good again,” Shiro said, quietly. “Please.”

So Keith swung around and started instead where Shiro could see him. He worked the soap over every inch of skin with gentle but firm hands, applying just enough pressure to soothe. He was careful with his scars, careful with the part of the arm that met his prosthesis, keeping an eye on Shiro’s expression to make sure he wasn’t hurting him. When he moved to his back, he kept going even after the soap had dissolved, massaging the knots from Shiro’s shoulders, his back, the base of his neck.

Little by little, Shiro relaxed. By the end of it, his eyes were closed, a peaceful expression on his face. Keith congratulated himself on a job well done.

“Thank you,” Shiro said, pressing a kiss to Keith’s hair as they shuffled positions.

Shiro slid in behind Keith, his knees resting comfortably against Keith’s back. Shiro pressed his soaped up hands to Keith’s skin and began.

It was as good—and as bad—as Keith had imagined. Strong hands roamed over each part of his body, lathering him with suds; one hand was rough and calloused, the other smooth with no give. Arms, shoulders, back, chest, abdomen. Feet, calves, thighs...

Keith stopped breathing.

“Okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.

“Yes,” Keith said, his voice squeaking. _Dammit._

Thinking about dead kittens and gross medical stuff and that time Coran accidentally put on the wrong video didn’t work. There was no hiding his reaction, but at least Shiro didn’t say anything.

Shiro _did_ say something when he moved on to shampooing Keith’s hair, and Keith was unable to suppress a moan. “Like that?” he hummed, working his fingers into Keith’s scalp.

“Mmm,” Keith sighed, eyes closed in utter bliss.

“Looks like I’ve found your weakness,” he teased.

“Don’t care,” Keith said, his voice rough. “Keep going.”

Shiro indulged him, washing his hair far longer than necessary. Keith whined when Shiro tipped his head back into the water to rinse the shampoo away, but returned to cloud nine when Shiro began working conditioner into his hair.

“I swear, the Galra in you is purring.”

“It’s happy.”

Shiro tipped Keith’s face back to meet his gaze. He gave him an amused smile. As if to say, _“it’s not the only part.”_

Keith blushed, though he was too enraptured to be properly embarrassed. “Hurry up.”

“You actually want me to?”

“No. …Visran’s still watching. You’re not allowed to.”

“Uh huh,” Shiro said with a smirk, and kept going.

…

After Keith took a long, cold shower, they headed back to their room and got ready for bed.

This time, there were no objections from Shiro about sleeping side-by-side. He turned off the lights and slipped under the covers next to Keith without a word.

Just after Keith had closed his eyes, Shiro said, “Keith?”

Keith rolled over to face him. He could trace every angle of his face in the silvery moonlight. “Yeah?”

“I know you didn’t really want to be here with me, and the main reason you were stuck with me on this mission was the trial, which we bombed… but I’m glad you’re here.”

Keith’s words stuck in his throat. “I—I never said I didn’t want to be here.”

“You think I couldn’t tell?”

Keith winced. It was true, he didn’t—but only because he did so badly. “I’m just… not a very good actor. Don’t you think one of the others would’ve been better?”

“No, I don’t,” Shiro said. “But even if I did, I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else. …Despite what the results of the trial might’ve said this morning, you _know_ me. You know what I need. You know how to make me feel better, and you never stop trying. So, yeah, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t care how bad of an actor you are. I still love you. You’re my closest friend.”

Keith’s eyes went wide. “You… love me?”

Shiro’s smile was soft. “Of course I do.”

A starburst filled Keith’s core, warmth flooding him; happy tears prickled behind his eyelids. He didn’t care that it was a reminder that their friendship was platonic. It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to him; they were words he’d gone a lifetime without.

He had to protect this friendship, at all costs.

He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouragement! It really keeps me motivated. :)

“Did I wake you up last night?”

“No,” Keith told Shiro, though honestly, he wished he had. Shiro shouldn’t have to deal with his nightmares alone, and judging by the dark smudges under his eyes, they’d been persistent last night.

Keith wished he could erase Shiro’s exhaustion with his fingertips; wanted to hold him, touch him until he could ignore the shadows lurking in the corners of his mind. He wanted to kiss away the— He _really_ needed to stop thinking like that. _Platonic thoughts, Keith._

Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Shiro, he stared out the large window beside the bed. One of Graxarion’s suns was rising, washing everything in warm rose-gold. The light spilling into the room was pleasant, safe.

“Visran’s not here yet,” Keith said. “Why don’t you close your eyes until he comes to get us?”

“…Alright.” Hesitantly, Shiro sat back down on the mattress, fully clothed.

With gentle hands, Keith coaxed him into lying down, and, in a moment of indulgence, he pulled the peach-tinted sheets over him and tucked him in. Shiro smiled as he let his eyes fall shut.

Keith stayed as quiet as possible as he washed up and got ready for the day, employing his stealth training with the Blade to keep his footfalls silent. There was still time after he was done—he’d never taken long in the morning—so he snuck back under the sheets to join Shiro.

Their arms brushed—completely by accident, of course. He pulled back, but Shiro shifted, keeping their shoulders pressed together.

Keith had fallen into a light doze by the time there was a knock at the door. Shiro was quick, and before the door swung open, he slid an arm under Keith’s spine and pulled him in against him.

Like the day before, Visran greeted them and gave them ten doboshes to get ready before bringing them to breakfast. The ten doboshes weren’t necessary—they were both ready to go—but they didn’t say anything. When the door shut, neither of them moved.   


  
After breakfast, they piled into the carriage and were escorted to a large, sleek building with a domed roof. The sharp smell of disinfectant and sweat hit them as soon as they stepped inside. Keith and Shiro exchanged matching grins.

It was a training facility, high ceilinged and spacious, with plenty of room to move around on pitch-black floors and mats. The dark walls were lined with all kinds of weapons that gleamed and glowed under fluorescent lights: swords, knives, daggers, axes, bows, spears, staves…

“Typically, this trial begins with a lesson,” Visran said. “There are instructors available to teach our guests combat skills. However, I imagine you Paladins are already well versed in combat.”

“We are,” Shiro said, with a nod.

“In that case,” Visran said, “you may proceed directly to the next stage of the trial. You will work together to defeat a simulated opponent.”

He gestured to a robot at the end of the room similar in appearance to the Castle’s Gladiator, though darker by a few shades and clunkier by several degrees. “A panel will observe from above,” Visran said, gesturing to a flat, reflective surface a few storeys up that must have been a one-way mirror.

“Fine by me,” Keith said. He drew his blade, sliding the dagger from his belt and activating its sword form in a familiar indigo glow. “Bring it on.”

Nothing was easier than fighting side-by-side with Shiro. They knew each other’s moves, knew where the other would be at any given time and which enemy they would target next. They barely had to speak a word. They didn’t have their armour, but there was no need when they had each other. Covering Shiro was as natural as breathing.

The first robot was down in no time at all, left with a gaping hole clean through its chest. Replacements were brought out, also quickly defeated. The waves of opponents became larger and larger, until they were faced with a small army. But even vastly outnumbered, the two had no problem—the robots were only programmed with so many moves; and while the robots were fast, they were faster. They fell into an easy rhythm.

Soon enough, every single opponent was felled, sliced or stabbed or melted through. Two thirds of the metal bodies on the ground glowed with orange lining the site of contact, edges still molten from the intense heat of Shiro’s hand.

Staring around at the glowing wreckage on the floor turned battlefield, Keith couldn’t help but feel a bit put out. There was no question Shiro was the better fighter, but still. Double?

“I thought speed was supposed to be _my_ thing,” Keith muttered.

“It’s not a competition,” Shiro said. “You did well.”

“You got _twice as many_ as I did,” Keith said.

“I’ve had more experience.”

…That was true. Not only had Shiro already been leagues better than Keith at martial arts when they’d first met, he’d spent an entire year doing nothing but fight for his life in an arena. (A year Keith had spent in the desert with no one around to fight even if he’d wanted to.)

Keith wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he reached for Shiro’s right hand. Unlike the metal bodies at their feet, Shiro’s hand had cooled down already, thanks to some form of Galra tech or druidic magic. The feature _probably_ hadn’t been meant for holding hands, but it was convenient nonetheless. Keith gave his hand a squeeze. He wasn’t sure how much Shiro could feel the pressure, but he kept his grip tight, just in case.

Visran approached them from the sidelines, lifting the hem of his white robes to step over the wreckage. “You did extremely well,” he said, thin eyebrows raised. “Never have I seen such formidable skill in combat. Your teamwork is truly remarkable.” The chaperone actually looked impressed, for once.

“Thank you,” Shiro said, bowing his head.

“There is only one more component of the trial left for today. We were not expecting you to be so quick. The trial will continue tomorrow, but for now, the last stage entails sparring with one another.” Visran walked over to the wall and picked up a practice sword about the size of Keith’s blade. He offered Keith the blunt weapon, but Keith made no move to take it.

“We don’t need practice weapons,” Keith said.

Visran frowned. “You are not worried about harming one another?”

“No,” Keith said, with conviction. “We know how to use our weapons, and we’ve sparred together for years. I could never hurt Shiro, and he would never hurt me.” Pointedly, he laced their fingers together. “It’s more useful for actual combat situations if we train with our real weapons, and we’re more familiar with them anyway.”

Visran considered, before nodding. “Very well, then.” He led them to the thin mats, and they began.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Shiro said, waiting for Keith to make the first move. Between Keith’s missions with the Blade of Marmora and all their duties with Voltron, there hadn’t been much opportunity for sparring.

“I’ve had more training with the Blade since then,” Keith said.

“Yeah? Let’s see what you got.”

Any hope of catching Shiro off guard with his new skills quickly dissipated. Despite his recent training, Shiro was still able to predict his every move. He knew what Keith was going to do before Keith did: Keith didn’t know what he was doing until he did it, just going with whatever felt right, but Shiro could see it all ahead of time. Every swing, every slash of Keith’s sword was dodged or parried.

Keith had a good sense of how Shiro usually fought, but knowing Keith was familiar with his typical fighting style, Shiro changed it up. His moves became predictably unpredictable: every time Keith thought he’d figured it out, Shiro would change tactics entirely.

Keith put up a solid fight with his blade, but Shiro managed to disarm him every time, and as soon as his weapon clattered to the ground, the match was as good as over. There wasn’t much point in grappling with Shiro. Even if Shiro weren’t able to predict every single one of his moves; even if Shiro didn’t completely overpower him, with something like fifty pounds on him; even if Shiro hadn’t been the one to teach him hand-to-hand combat in the first place; without a weapon or armour, Keith didn’t stand a chance against his Galra arm.

It became repetitive: Shiro would disarm him, defeat him, and they’d go again. So Shiro began toying with Keith, a cat playing with his prey.

Shiro disarmed him as usual, but he didn’t move in for the win. He just waited for Keith to attack him again and again. He countered every move with ease but never went on the offensive, and Keith was left running headfirst into a brick wall over and over. It was absolutely infuriating.

It sent Keith back to late adolescence, back to the early days of their friendship. Shiro had done the same thing back then, but back then he’d been instructing him. He hadn’t grinned at Keith’s steadily mounting frustration the way he was now.

“Just end it already,” Keith growled.

“Patience yields—“

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Shiro said, as Keith came at him again. He dodged, grabbed Keith by the wrist, and flipped him over with one arm—and not even the right one. Keith was left winded as his back was slammed into the mat. Shiro trapped his hips with his knees, hands pressed over hands. He held him down with barely any effort at all, watching him with laugh-crinkled eyes. “…Do you?”

When he regained his breath, Keith rolled his eyes. “No, but I might if you don’t just—“ He cut off his sentence with a guttural, exasperated sound as Shiro’s grip loosened, intentionally releasing him.

“Whoops,” Shiro said, lightly.

Keith scowled. Pushing himself to his feet, he launched another attack and, within seconds, was knocked flat on his back yet again. Shiro leaned over him, hands wrapped around his wrists, pinning him again.

“Doesn’t look like that’s working,” Shiro said, leaning in closer with his patience-yields-focus smile. “You might want to try a different approach.”

“Don’t pretend you’re trying to teach me,” Keith said, glowering at him. “You’re just doing this to get me riled up.” It was working, too.

Shiro’s smile became amused. “And?”

“And I’ve had about enough.”

With that, Keith reached up and planted a swift kiss on Shiro’s lips.

It was a rash, reckless move, born of aggravation chasing adrenaline through his veins. It was thoughtless, careless, but it had only been to catch Shiro off guard—a tactical strategy and nothing more. Keith told himself that so vehemently he almost believed it.

Startled, Shiro’s weight shifted backward, allowing Keith to wriggle out of his grasp. He used all his bodyweight to pin Shiro’s hands to the mat, then scooted backward. Still stunned, Shiro made no counter move, allowing Keith to trap his neck with his legs. Keith brought his legs together to cut off his oxygen, choking him until he ceded.

Shiro’s eyes were wide as he gasped for breath.

“Guess you can’t predict _all_ my moves,” Keith said with a smug smirk.

“…Guess not,” Shiro said, his mouth slowly transforming from agape into a genuine smile.

…

After washing up, they were given free rein to do whatever they desired until dinner—so long as they were tailed by their chaperone, of course. Visran recommended visiting the fair at the outskirts of the city, a popular spot for tourists. It wasn’t as if they had any other ideas, so they took him up on the suggestion and headed to the attraction.

It was a long carriage ride, and somewhere along the way, Shiro fell asleep on Keith’s shoulder. Cheek pressed lightly to the crown of Shiro’s head, Keith was careful not to move for the next varga or so.

He didn’t particularly want to have a staring match with Visran, so he kept his eyes focused on the window on his right, watching as the candy-coloured buildings beyond the glass became smaller and smaller, sparser and sparser. His gaze occasionally flitting to the warm, heavy body resting against him.

When the site finally came into view, it became readily apparent why they’d set up all the way out here. The place was _huge,_ sprawling out as far as the eye could see. There was a massive array of tented stalls set up, but what really got Keith’s attention was the amusement rides.

Dramatic structures of all shapes twisted and turned and reached for the clouds. Keith had never been to a fair or amusement park before; it was another piece of childhood he’d missed out on. He hadn’t let himself wish for many things when he was younger (besides love and affection and stability and a family), but he had wanted this. Now, he finally had his chance.

His eyes were bright, but he kept his excitement to himself—Shiro was still fast asleep, catching up on the rest he so badly needed. Even when the carriage ground to a halt at the entrance, Shiro didn’t stir.

Loath as Keith was to wake him, they needed to get out. “Hey,” he said, softly, cupping Shiro’s cheek with his palm.

Shiro leaned into the touch as he blinked his eyes open. “Hm?”

“We’re here. Ready to go?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry,” Shiro said, sitting up straight. “Sorry. Fell asleep.”

“I noticed,” Keith said with a little smile. “Glad you got some rest.”

They hopped out of the carriage and took in their surroundings. “Guess we’ve found another universal constant,” Shiro said. “This place is set up almost exactly like the fairs on Earth—though the rides here are definitely higher tech.”

“I bet they go even faster,” Keith grinned.

“Let me guess: you’re into the extreme rides.” Shiro gazed up at the closest one, where Graxari were shrieking as they plunged downward from a point in the sky barely visible from the ground.

“Probably,” Keith said, “I’ve never actually been on one before, though, so I guess we can’t know for sure until we’ve tried them all.” He couldn’t suppress his grin.

Shiro linked their hands together, his expression fond. “Well then, we better get started.”

Pulling Shiro along, Keith headed for the most terrifying rides first, the ones that elicited the loudest screams. There were queues at each of them, but they were well worth the wait.

Keith quickly decided that rides were _fun_. He got plenty of adrenaline in his day job as a Defender of the Universe and his side gig as a member of the Blade, but the amusement rides were free of the crushing stress that usually accompanied it. There was no responsibility here, no repercussions. Here, he could get all of the rush with none of the actual danger.

Shiro laughed and smiled along with him. A few rides in, though, his mask slipped for a moment. Jaw clenched, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut, it became apparent that his enjoyment was a charade.

Shiro flinched when Keith laid a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” Keith asked.

“Of course,” Shiro said. He smiled too quickly, overshooting what could have passed as genuine.

“Shiro…”

Shiro fixed his smile into something that would have convinced anyone else. “I’m good. Which one do you want to try next?”

Cold settled in Keith’s gut. Shiro was doing this for him. He wanted to let Keith have fun, give him this experience, but he didn’t enjoy it. Which… made sense. Of course he wouldn’t. For someone who experienced debilitating panic attacks and had nightmares near every time he closed his eyes, fear would be anything but fun.

Keith felt awful for not realizing it sooner. He’d been so selfish, caught up in his own childish delight. He should have been more conscientious, should have been watching more carefully. He’d been too eager to buy into Shiro’s facade.

“I’m done with rides,” Keith said.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to go on all of them.”

Keith shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“That was a quick change of heart. You were having a great time just a dobosh ago,” Shiro said. “…Seriously, Keith. I’m _fine._ ”

“Uh huh.”

Shiro sighed. “Look, maybe I don’t enjoy rides the way I used to, but you do. I’ll be okay, so let’s keep going. I want to keep going.”

“No. I don’t want to anymore. We’re done.”

Shiro shook his head, sighing again. “You’re too selfless for your own good, you know that?”

“Like you’re one to talk. But I’m not; I’m just hungry.” It wasn’t a total lie—it had been a while since breakfast. “Let’s go check out the food vendors. Maybe there’ll be something on this planet that’s actually good.”

Reluctantly, Shiro took the out. “…Alright. Let’s go.”

They followed the treaded path, azure dirt packed beneath their feet. Shiro held onto Keith’s hand with a tight grip as they pushed their way through the sea of people.

“D’you think we’ll need to feed each other with our bare hands at the food stalls, too?” Keith asked.

Shiro shrugged. “Maybe they’ll have stuff on sticks so we won’t have to.”

“Forget about rides. Food on sticks would be the highlight of the fair.”

Shiro gave him a wry smile. “Let’s not get our hopes up.”   


They smelled the food area long before they reached it. All sorts of aromas wafted through the air, none of which were particularly appealing. There was a lot of noise—sizzling and popping and crunching and yelling. Too many people were jammed into too narrow aisles. It was all pretty overwhelming, but Shiro’s eyes darted around with keen interest, so Keith didn’t mind.

They wove through the stalls, some decked out in cheerful colours and patterns, others dull and faded. Sadly, none offered food on sticks. Some of the items being sold were wrapped in coated paper, though, so it wasn’t necessary to actually touch the food with their bare hands. There was no need to put their fingers in each other’s mouths, which was great, because Keith definitely, definitely, did not derive pleasure from that in any way.

They sampled food from various stalls in a wide assortment of flavours and textures that ranged from unpleasant to horrendous. Keith wasn’t a particularly picky eater, but the Graxari had very different ideas from most Earthlings of what tasted good. Luckily, Shiro was a human garbage disposal and would eat anything Keith didn’t like.

“This one’s actually really good,” Shiro said, taking a bite from the crumbly, pink cube in Keith’s hand. He brought a matching one to Keith’s lips for him to try.

It was an awful blend of banana-flavoured children’s medicine and processed “cheese”—the kind that wasn’t allowed to be sold without the quotation marks. The cube had a strange consistency that dried his mouth out, and had a plasticky aftertaste. Keith grimaced. “It’s really not. But your taste buds are broken. You think the Garrison’s mac and cheese is the best food on Earth.”

“Best food in the universe,” Shiro corrected. “It’s the perfect blend of soggy and crunchy. Slimy but not too slimy, you know?”

“Hunk would legitimately cry if he heard you say that.”

“Hunk just doesn’t have a refined palate like I do,” Shiro said, eliciting a snort of laughter.

“Alright, _gourmand,”_ Keith said. “Hurry up and finish this one off so we can try something else. There’s gotta be something around here that’s halfway decent.”

Many stalls later, at a sad-looking place in the corner that had absolutely no customers, they found a sticky blue wedge that tasted pretty close to pancakes with syrup. Delighted with the find, Keith filled up on those and those alone.

When they’d finished eating, they wiped the syrupy blue coating from their faces with their napkins. It was an automatic action, done before they realized they’d made a mistake.

“Uh oh. We were supposed to wipe each other’s mouths,” Keith said under his breath, looking around at all the other couples doing just that.

“Ah,” Shiro said. “…Well, it’s not too late. You missed a spot.”

Shiro brought the napkin toward Keith’s mouth, but he changed his mind midway and dropped it. Instead, he tilted Keith’s chin up with his fingertips and leaned in. He was either taking a _really_ close look, or—

Keith’s eyes went saucer-wide as he felt Shiro’s lips brush against his lower lip; his heart skipped three beats when Shiro took his lower lip into his mouth. A flicker of _tongue_ grazed the edge, and he stopped breathing entirely.

Shiro pulled back and looked Keith over with a satisfied smirk. “There. All gone.”

Keith said nothing. He’d lost all his words.

Shiro leaned in again. “That’s for this morning,” he murmured into his ear.

Keith still had no words.

“Was—was that too far?” he asked, concerned when Keith didn’t respond. The playfulness evaporated from his voice. “I-I’m sorry—“

Snapping out of his stupor, Keith shook his head, trying to ignore the way he blushed to his hairline and his heart was racing faster than it had with any ride. “No. No, it was—” He was about to say _fine_ , but the word tended to mean the opposite with the two of them, and as much as this was going to destroy Keith later when this was over, he didn’t want Shiro to feel like he’d done something wrong. He couldn’t tell the truth and admit _it was_ _the best thing that’s ever happened to me,_ so instead, he said, “It was a good idea. …We needed to make up for our slip-up, and I think that covered it. So. Good thinking.”

“I want you to tell me if you need me to ease up on the act,” Shiro said, quietly.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Keith said, forcing his shoulders not to slump at that last word _._ “It’s… for a good cause. This alliance is important.” He looked around for a distraction, eyes finding the game section. “A-anyway. Ready to lose at some carnival games? ‘Cause I’m gonna win.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Shiro said, grinning.

And just like that, they were back in their safety zone. Back to where Keith knew they should stay—the part of him that wanted to survive beyond the next few days, anyway. The rest of him thirsted to go further, consequences be damned, but lucky for future-Keith, self-control won out.

Hours flew by as they got caught up in games of chance and skill, going all out in playful competition. They each had games they were particularly good at, balancing out to a tie in terms of overall games won. They didn’t stop until they’d won the largest prize at each stall, giving away their winnings to delighted Graxari children around them.

Keith hadn’t had this much fun in… he couldn’t even remember how long. He didn’t want it to end, but eventually, the sky ripened to a deep magenta, and it was time to head back to the palace for dinner.

Reluctantly, he got back in the carriage. He wasn’t tired, excitement still buzzing in his veins, but he pretended to be so he could lean his head against Shiro’s shoulder for the duration of the trip back.

Keith rode the high through the rest of the evening, through the carriage ride and onward through dinner. It wasn’t until the end of the day, when they were back in their room for the night, that exhaustion swept over Keith and he crashed. Hard.

“Today was good,” he said, making a beeline for the bed, too tired to change. He flopped down on top of the mattress face-first with enough force to bounce.

“Yeah,” Shiro said, collapsing beside him. “Visran actually seemed impressed this morning.”

In a monumental effort, Keith rolled over to face him. “Maybe this whole thing’s—“ he stifled a yawn—“not a lost cause after all.”

“Yeah. Maybe not,” Shiro said, closing his eyes. “Visran really wanted to make sure we wanted to continue with the trial earlier, before dinner. Wonder what that was all about.”

“Yeah. No idea,” Keith said, fighting to keep his eyes open and losing. “But I hope tomorrow’s similar to today. Today was fun.”

“It was,” Shiro agreed.

“Tired now, though.”

Shiro struggled to open his eyes again. He frowned. “Yeah. …Unusually tired. Dinner tonight. D’you… think it could’ve been drugged?” His words were starting to slur, eliding.

“Mm. Maybe,” Keith said, as he lost the fight with his eyelids.

“Maybe we should contact the others,” Shiro said, though he made no move to get up. “Are you able to go get the pad…?”

“Mm mm,” Keith said, too exhausted to form proper words.

“Yeah. …Guess we’ll just have to hope tomorrow goes okay,” Shiro slurred. “‘Night, Keith.”

“Mm,” Keith hummed. Too tired to remember to keep his distance, he snuggled up to Shiro, nuzzling his cheek before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, writing fluff. Next chapter, not so much... :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! I know it's been ages--it took me a while to get it right. Thanks for sticking with me. :)

Unbearably loud knocking dragged Keith halfway out of sleep. His head was swimming, pounding; everything ached. There were voices nearby, but they were hard to make out, and listening seemed more effort than it was worth, so he kept his eyes shut and tried to find sleep again.

The voices stopped, a door closed, and then, “Keith.”

“…”

“Keith.”

“…Mm?”

“C’mon, Keith. We need to go for breakfast soon.”

A gentle pat to Keith’s cheek coaxed his eyelids open. He groaned. The lights were far too bright, and when he managed to push himself up to his elbows, the room spun.

Shiro’s face slowly came into focus. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You not feeling well either?”

Keith blinked a couple times, then frowned. “… _Either_?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “I’m guessing it’s whatever we were drugged with last night. Must be part of the trial.”

“Worst trial ever.”

Shiro breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He stood up and walked around to Keith’s side of the bed. “Okay. Time to get ready.” He offered Keith a hand and helped him to his feet.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, they washed up. Keith kept his eyes closed as he brushed his teeth and got dressed. He struggled to put his shirt on, giving up halfway through.

“Need some help there?”

Keith let out a muffled sound.

His eyes flew open as Shiro grabbed the bunched up fabric and pulled the shirt down the rest of the way for him, his breath catching as Shiro’s knuckles trailed down his obliques. He was officially awake.

Shiro was already fully dressed, and wearing a little smirk to boot. Keith was both glad and disappointed that he had already put his pants on.

Visran was back too soon, his knocking painfully loud again. He stepped inside. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Shiro said, standing tall and seemingly alert. He was worryingly good at hiding his symptoms.

“Did you drug us last night?” Keith demanded.

Visran gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

_“Why?”_

“More will be explained when we begin the next stage of the trial,” Visran said, impassive as always.

Shiro put his arm around Keith as they made their way to the dining hall. He was mainly supporting Keith, but Keith took some of Shiro’s weight, too.

They got there eventually, but breakfast was the last thing Keith wanted right now. The food was even less appetizing than usual, all lumpy and slimy and slippery. "Really don't feel like eating," he muttered, staring at the plates in front of them.

“I know,” Shiro said. “But we should try to anyway. Keep our energy up. If it's a continuation of yesterday's trial, we might need it."

Keith sighed. He grabbed a handful of the closest thing on his plate, something pale and mushy. Leaning forward, he brought it to Shiro's lips—or at least, he tried to. His vision was blurry and he missed, smushing half of it into Shiro's cheek instead.

"Sorry!" Keith grimaced. "Sorry."

Shiro just laughed.

Keith scooped the mush from Shiro's cheek with his fingertips, then carefully stuck it back in Shiro's mouth. Shiro's tongue was uncoordinated, and it took several long moments of licking Keith's fingers before finding the food. By the time Keith pulled his hand away, he was blushing bright.

They didn’t get much better at it, and by the end of breakfast, they’d only managed a few mouthfuls each. More of Shiro's food ended up on his face than in his stomach. It was a good thing neither of them were hungry.

The carriage ride to the trial did not help Keith’s stomach. He kept his eyes closed and burrowed into Shiro's shoulder, trying to ignore the nauseating up and down of the ungulates’ gait. The long ride was made tolerable only by Shiro's sturdy weight against him, his temple resting against the crown of Keith’s head.

They were brought to the same building they’d been in the day before. When the carriage door opened, Keith tripped and nearly fell out. Shiro caught him and linked their arms to help him walk.

Keith had enjoyed the ambience of the facility yesterday, but it was far less pleasant today. The glaring bright lights and thundering echoes amplified Keith’s headache, and the strong odour of disinfectant mixed with sweat turned his stomach further. Shiro wasn’t a fan either, judging by the grimace he was trying and failing to hide.

They staggered past the gymnasium they’d been in yesterday and followed Visran into a dimly lit, windowless foyer. Two other Graxari waited for them there, dressed head to toe in sterile white. Visran gave them a cursory introduction, though Keith wasn’t focused enough to retain their names. Re-something and La-something. Keith really didn’t care.

He cut to the chase. “Why did you drug us last night?”

“Because it is slow acting,” Re-something answered. “The poison must be administered the night before in order for you to feel the effects.”

Keith balked. “ _Poison?”_

“Yes. Feradotoxin. Did it work?” La-something asked.

 _“Yes!”_ Keith snapped, glaring.

Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith and pressed his lips to his temple. “Keith,” he warned under his breath.

“Why would you _poison_ the two of us?” Keith asked, trying to keep his tone restrained.

“While we would usually only poison the one in your role,” La said to Keith, “as we saw yesterday, your partner is exceptionally skilled in combat. We had to poison both of you to ensure the trial would be sufficiently challenging.”

“Not to worry. He will be be given the antidote regardless of the outcome of the trial,” Re said. “Provided he survives, of course.”

“What about Keith?” Shiro asked, at the same time as Keith spluttered, “ _survives?!”_ Shiro’s patient facade was cracking; there was an edge to his voice now. “What, exactly, does this trial entail?”

“There are two roles in today’s component of the trial, as determined by your performance yesterday. You,” La said, nodding at Shiro, “will be given a series of opponents to defeat in combat. If you pass the trial, your partner will receive the antidote.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “But if I don’t, Keith doesn’t get it.”

“Correct,” La said.

Shiro clenched his fists. “Keith shouldn’t have to—” 

“Shiro, it’s alright,” Keith interrupted. He fumbled for Shiro’s hand and smoothed his thumb over tight knuckles. “It’ll be fine. You’re gonna get through it, no question.”

Shiro let out a slow, deliberate exhale and unclenched his hand, allowing Keith to thread their fingers together. “I will,” he vowed.

“So what’s my role?” Keith asked.

“You will watch over your partner from the monitor room, where you may provide moral support,” La said.

“…That’s it?” Keith asked, when she didn’t continue.

“Supporting your partner is not unimportant,” Re said.

Keith scowled, but relented. He absolutely did not want to play damsel, but if these were the roles, of the two of them, Shiro was better suited to fight. He was brutally well versed in facing opponents in this exact manner.

He also seemed less incapacitated than Keith by the poison—hopefully due to higher body mass, rather than built up tolerance or practice hiding it. Still, his breathing was heavier than usual, and his footsteps were clumsy. Keith heard him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth when the heavy, metal door at the end of the hallway emitted a grating screech.

Beyond the door, a long, dark corridor stretched out before them, illuminated only by the flickering yellow lights in the stairwell to the left. “You will be going this way,” La said to Shiro, gesturing into the darkness.

“And you will come with me upstairs,” Re told Keith.

Before they parted ways, Keith grabbed Shiro’s wrist and pulled him back. “You can do this,” he assured him. After a moment’s deliberation, he pressed a kiss to Shiro’s cheek. “Go get ‘em.”

Keith’s heart flipped at the soft smile Shiro gave him in return. His heart flipped again in a worse way at the stumble in Shiro’s step as he walked into the dark. Keith bit his lip. Shiro… Shiro would be fine.

Keith followed Re up the stairs, Visran close behind. His steps were sluggish, and he had to cling to the crimson railing to hold himself up. He was short of breath after just one flight; three more flights took a small eternity.

The room he was finally brought to was nearly empty. The only objects in the room were four large screens that spanned the wall, white plastic-like chairs facing said screens, and a control panel in the corner.

Re headed to the control panel, while Visrin took up residence at the back of the room. Keith collapsed into one of the seats, head spinning. His stomach cramped something awful.

When Re flipped a switch, the screens lit up, displaying Shiro in high definition at different angles. The tight black suit he was outfitted in provided very little protection, but he looked good. _Really_ good. The material was strained where it stretched over his chest and—

 _Keith, no_. He forced himself to tear his gaze away. There wasn’t much else to look at, though; Shiro was alone in a large, barren room with heavy, concrete-like walls. There wasn’t anything to listen to, either.

“Can he hear me?” Keith asked Re.

“He can,” Shiro answered, looking upward at one of the cameras. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said. “Worry about yourself.”

La entered the room and joined Re at the control panel. “Are you ready?” she asked Shiro.

“Yeah.” He took a fighting stance. “I’m ready.”

The heavy wall in front of Shiro rose. A clunky, six-legged robot clomped forth before the wall dropped down again. It was scrap metal compared to the gladiator and sentries and robeasts they were used to—no wonder the Graxari had felt it necessary to impair Shiro’s ability to fight.

The robot was crude, but it wasn’t as slow as it looked. It rushed forward and swung a limb at Shiro. Shiro was successful in dodging, but his movements were sluggish; his usual grace and finesse had been stolen with the poison. The robot swung again and made contact, knocking him off balance.

But Shiro was Shiro, and he always came out on top. He avoided the next hit, and the next, before he sliced through the robot’s core with an arc of purple light. One more cross-wise hit, and it stopped functioning.

“Nice work,” Keith said. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

The wall rose again, and a bigger, sturdier robot stomped forward with thin, whip-like appendages. Its footsteps were slow. The rest of it was not.

Its whips lashed out with a loud _crack_. Shiro tried to dodge, but one of them struck his shoulder. He flinched, shook it off, and then went on the offensive. He tripped as he ran forward, but he didn’t fall, and was able to get in close. Lighting up his hand, he plunged his arm deep into the body of the robot. It stopped moving.

Shiro stumbled again as he stepped back, panting hard.

“You okay?” Keith asked.

“I’m fine,” Shiro said.

“Good,” Keith said. There was nothing else to say. “You got this.”

 

The trial got harder and harder to watch as Shiro got slower and the opponents got stronger.

He’d managed to avoid any devastating blows, but the hits that had landed were adding up. Not to mention the effects of the poison were getting worse. Keith’s stomach clenched, and his vision blurred in and out of focus, and his head throbbed, and every part of him ached. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Shiro. 

“I’m okay,” Shiro told Keith each time he defeated an opponent. And he was, but for how long?

 

“How many more of these does he have to face?” Keith asked the Graxari, after the wall rose for an eighth time.

“The trial will be over soon enough,” was all Re said. One way or another, that would be true.

Trying to ignore the stabbing pain behind his eyes, Keith tried to focus on the screens. “Upper… upper back,” he said to Shiro. “That part doesn’t look like metal. Could be a weak point.”

“Thanks,” Shiro panted. He dived between the robot’s legs to get in behind it, then spun around and leapt upward. He thrust his hand forward, but his aim was off and he only grazed it.

He tried again, but he missed and hit metal instead. This time, the robot began crackling with electricity just before he made contact, and sparks flew when he hit it with his metal arm. He cried out, collapsing.

“Shiro!” Keith leapt out of his chair, nearly keeling over with the sudden rush of dizziness.

Shiro managed to push himself up to his feet. He tried again. This time, he hit his mark, and the robot shut down.

“Shiro—”

“I’m… fine,” Shiro said, between ragged breaths. He got into a fighting stance for his next opponent.

Keith clenched his jaw. Shiro wouldn’t give up. They had to pass this trial if they wanted the alliance, not to mention the antidote. Still, Keith asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

The wall lifted again, and a monstrous, plated thing with blades and long limbs stepped forward. Without pause, it came at Shiro and sliced his arm open with a deep cut, eliciting a pained gasp.

Keith dug his fingernails into his palms. “Come on, Shiro,” he uttered.

Shiro took a swing and hit one of the metal plates. He didn’t have enough momentum to even leave a mark. The thing hit him back, sending him flying into the adjacent wall. There was a horrible  _crack_ as his ribs fractured.

Keith’s stomach tried to crawl its way out of his throat. “Shiro!”

The robot found Shiro and slashed at him with another blade. He rolled, avoiding a lethal hit, but it still carved a deep gash in his side. Dragging himself to his feet, he tried to get away, but it caught him first. It grabbed him with one of its appendages and squeezed, further crushing his broken ribs.

An awful, strangled sound tore its way from Shiro’s throat, but he didn’t falter. When he was close enough, he seized the opportunity to plunge his lit hand into a crevice between plates. It slowed it down and loosened its grip, allowing him to wriggle free. He fell to the ground with a painful _thud._

Staggering closer, Shiro found another crack between its plates. He buried his arm in its innards, pulling out broken wires as he withdrew. Finally, it stopped moving.

“I—I’m okay,” Shiro gasped, clutching his side. “I’m okay, Keith.” His face was pallid, blood spilling from multiple wounds. He swayed dangerously as he turned to face the moveable wall.

The wall started to rise again, but Keith couldn’t let it go on any further. “No. Stop the trial. We’re done.”

Re pressed a button, freezing the wall in place. She looked at him. “You would forfeit the alliance?”

Keith clenched his fists. The alliance was important, but not nearly as important as Shiro. “Yes.”

“You do not have the antidote yet,” La reminded him.

“I don’t _care,_ ” Keith growled. “Call it off.”

“Keith, no,” Shiro said. “I… I can still…”

“Maybe you can,” Keith said. “But I can’t. I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt anymore.”

Shiro shook his head. “Keith—”

“Shiro, please. You’re way more important than any alliance or cure. I’d give anything to keep you safe. I need you. …I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes widened a fraction. “But the… the antidote…”

“It’s out there,” Keith said. “We’ll get it some other way.”

“But what if—”

“We’ll figure something out. We always do. Trust me, I’ll be fine,” Keith said. “So please, Shiro. Let me stop this.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“I’m sure. We’re done.”

The Graxari looked at each other and nodded. As Re lowered the wall, La withdrew a metal box from the underside of the control panel. She opened the box, revealing two large needle-like apparatuses filled with a bright purple liquid.

“Well done,” she said. She stepped forward. “Your arm.”

Keith blinked. “What?”

“You passed the trial,” Re said. “This is the antidote.”

They’d passed. Keith’s head spun. His lips curved up, and he let out a relieved laugh. “Hear that, Shiro?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a slight smile. And then he fell forward to his knees.

As soon as La had administered the antidote, Keith ran for the door. He raced down the stairs faster than was safe, having to catch himself on the railing a couple times. He bolted down the dark corridor Shiro had taken, pushing off of the walls when he ran into them.

Finally, he reached the large, empty room he’d seen on the screens. Shiro was waiting in front of all the broken robots. He was back up on his feet, but as soon as Keith reached him, he pitched forward and collapsed into Keith’s arms.

Keith wasn’t sure he could stay on his feet himself, so he guided Shiro down to the ground, where he could cradle him in his lap.

Shiro looked up. “Hey,” he said, weakly.

“Hi,” Keith whispered back.

Shiro raised his head a few inches and looked behind Keith to check that they were alone. “That was smart,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When’d you figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“That the trial wasn’t just about how far I’d go to save you, but what you’d give up to save me.” Shiro gave him a faint smile. “Convincing speech, by the way.”

Keith swallowed. He had the opportunity; he should go along with it and pretend everything he’d said was part of a plan. His feelings had been made obvious; now he had a chance to fix that. He could save their friendship. But at the same time…

Before he could say anything, the Graxari entered the room. “Congratulations,” La said. She opened the box and withdrew the needle. “As promised, the antidote.”

Instead of bringing relief, the sight of it made Shiro stiffen. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

“Your arm, please,” La said.

Shiro hesitated before holding out his left arm. Keith took his other hand and laced their fingers together.

Shiro squeezed Keith’s hand as the needle jabbed his arm and liquid pushed from the needle’s chamber into his bloodstream. His metal grip was painful, crushing Keith’s hand, but it wasn’t quite hard enough to break any bones, so Keith stayed silent. He let Shiro release his hand on his own time.

Keith hadn't noticed Re leave the room, but she entered the room again, now followed by a small crew of other Graxari. They carried a thin cot on a frame suspended by poles over their shoulders. “The healing facility is next door,” Re said.

Keith hoisted Shiro to his feet, keeping him steady despite his own lightheadedness. He helped him onto the flat surface, then fumbled his way over to the space beside him. Careful to avoid his cracked ribs, he wrapped his arm around Shiro and let him lean into his side.

The ride over was a blur, and Keith paid no mind to their surroundings. Nothing mattered but the expansion and contraction of Shiro’s ribcage, and the accompanying sound of his breaths. He only realized they’d reached their destination when Shiro’s breathing stopped with a sharp inhale and he began to tremble.

Keith followed Shiro’s gaze across the room, past the metal tables, past the beds, to the glass tanks lining the wall. A Graxari occupied one of the tanks, suspended in a pinkish liquid. A monitor beside the tank displayed readings that suggested he was alive, but otherwise it was hard to tell. From the outside, he just looked like a lab specimen. An experiment.

Keith held Shiro closer, ignoring the blood seeping through his clothes. The heartbeat against his chest was far too quick. When Shiro’s breaths started again, they were shallow, ragged, stuttering.

“So this is where Shiro’s gonna be healed?” Keith asked a new Graxari standing in front of them—some sort of med tech. He looked around. “Do you have cryopods or something somewhere?”

The med tech gave him a strange look. “ _Cryopods?_ That technology has been outdated for millennia. The immersive tanks you see here are far more efficient. Your partner will be healed in one of those.”

“Oh,” Keith whispered. He squeezed Shiro’s hand and leaned in. “Shiro?”

Shiro didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the tank, or maybe somewhere beyond.

“Is there another option?” Keith asked the med tech. “Something less…” he gestured to the tank, “…isolated? I’d just... rather have him within reach. If I could.”

“There is a gel that can speed up the healing of surface wounds, and an elixir to repair bones,” the med tech said, “But in his state, and given interaction with the feradotoxin antidote, it would be over a quintant until full recovery.”

Keith looked at Visran, pleading. “Can we do that? Or do we have to go through another trial tomorrow?”

Visran considered. His gaze wandered from Keith’s face to Shiro’s, to Keith’s arms wrapped around Shiro’s body, to their linked hands. “I think we can make an exception.”

Keith nodded his thanks. He tugged at Shiro. “Shiro?”

When he tugged a little harder and said his name a little louder, Shiro’s eyes finally snapped to Keith.

“Hey,” Keith said, softly. “Let’s get you fixed up, alright?”

“R-right,” Shiro gasped.

Keith helped him up and over to the bed, where they sank into the mattress. With the lingering effects of the poison, it was horribly tempting to curl up and fall asleep, but first, Keith had to make sure Shiro was taken care of.

Another med tech brought over a tray of supplies. They were familiar, similar to those used in the med bay aboard the Castle. The med tech looked at Keith, who was still clinging to Shiro, and cleared his throat. “You’ll need to release your partner while we tend to his wounds.”

Keith didn’t budge, holding on tight. Shiro hated medical facilities as it was; the last thing he needed was strangers poring over him. “I’ll do it. You guys can leave.”

The med tech’s brows raised. “Are you certain?”

Keith’s vision was okay for now, and his hands were steady enough. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it. I do this all the time. Visran can let you know if we need anything.”

“…Very well, then.”

The other Graxari left. Visran moved to the back of the room, keeping an eye on them from there.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured. His eyelids were heavy, threatening to close. “Thanks.”

“Hold on,” Keith said, grabbing the bottle of elixir from the side of the bed. “Drink this before you pass out on me.”

Keith lifted the bottle to Shiro’s lips, helping him drink. Shiro shuddered and gagged after the first sip. “Ugh…”

“Just toss it back,” Keith said. He added with a quirk of his lips, “Like you did with all those drinks on your birthday a few years back.”

Shiro let out a slight laugh. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, and you probably don’t. But you get the idea.”

Shiro’s lips lifted. “Yeah.” He put his hand over Keith’s, and together, they poured the liquid down his throat. He cringed as he swallowed.

“There we go.” Keith wiped away the liquid dribbling down his chin. “Okay. You can rest now,” he said, and helped Shiro to lie down.

Shiro was out within moments.

Patching Shiro up was second nature at this point. Keith’s hands were careful as he peeled Shiro’s clothes off and disinfected his wounds. Shiro didn’t react at all, already deep in slumber.

Keith scooped a generous portion of the smooth, cool gel from the jar into his palms and slathered it over every break in Shiro’s skin. The open wounds stopped bleeding at once; there was no need for stitches. Wrapping them was effortless, the motions easy and familiar.

When he was done, he laid a hand on Shiro’s chest. His heart rate was normal, his breathing slow and even in his sleep.

Abandoning all self-control, Keith gently traced Shiro’s jaw with his knuckles. He trailed his hand down Shiro’s neck, collarbone, shoulder, and arm, until he could fit their hands together. “Sleep well,” he murmured, before he curled up next to him and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I write and draw things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/littlewhitetie), [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/littlewhitetie). Come say hi!


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